


rock pigeons and other related routine

by spacedhowell



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Secret Relationship, omi-rin roommates because i love them, sakuatsu are dumb but whats new, sunaosa clowning sakuatsu but whats new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedhowell/pseuds/spacedhowell
Summary: He comes to the conclusion that the rock pigeons are definitely higher entities. They must have decided, then and there, to collude with the universe. To pull a cosmic prank. To fuck up Kiyoomi's life.-Despite Kiyoomi's best attempts, it becomes routine.Atsumubecomes routine.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi & Suna Rintarou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	rock pigeons and other related routine

**Author's Note:**

> written for sakuatsu fluff week! day 4 - college au / secretly dating / "i'm not moving. your lap is comfortable." (yes all 3 because hubris)

Kiyoomi's morning routine goes as follows: 

His alarm goes off at seven o' clock sharp—default music, basic vibration settings, snooze disabled. He sits up, downs the cup of water left on his bedside from the night before, and allows himself two and a half minutes to idle. In his allotted two and a half minutes, he ponders affairs such as the galaxy's ever-expanding antimatter, the vast unknown, and the rock pigeons that rest on his window sill, seeking shelter on rainy days. 

Kiyoomi thinks that if the pigeons really tried hard enough, they'd probably find the answers to ever-expanding antimatter and the vast unknown easily enough. Easier than Kiyoomi, anyways. They are, however, usually preoccupied with other matters, such as thrashing their damp wings against the glass of Kiyoomi's window, and pecking at the stained outer walls of his dorm building. At the very least, they're good company.

One, two, three, four paces to the door. A hand on the handle and a step back as his bedroom door swings inward. Four paces to get from one end of the hallway to the other. Another four paces to the bathroom. Two minutes to brush his teeth. Six minutes to shower. Four minutes to get dressed.

Twelve minutes for breakfast with Rintarou. Thirteen seconds for Kiyoomi to carry both their plates from the dining table to the kitchen sink. Two minutes and twenty seconds before guilt kicks in and Rintarou stops pretending to fiddle with his hair in the mirror by the kitchen entrance and goes to help Kiyoomi rinse off the dishes. Mornings with Rintarou are comfortable and predictable and routine. It's why they work as roommates.

Thirty seconds for Kiyoomi to grab his keys and book bag before unlocking the front door.

One, two, three, four seconds for—

"Omi-kun!" 

—Atsumu to come along and dredge out any and all hope for a peaceful ten minute walk to Kiyoomi's eight a.m. class.

His hair is wet and his smile is saccharine and his laces are untied. Kiyoomi has an inexplicable urge to step on them.

Kiyoomi's dorm building is special in that the hired architects were likely drunk throughout the entire design process. And possibly hungover as they sent the floorplans to the college board for approval.

Exhibit A: The building consists of six floors. Each floor consists of a hallway with just enough space for either a Japanese college student of below average width and height or a raccoon dog of above average head to hindquarters span to navigate through. Kiyoomi is neither a below average Japanese college student nor an above average raccoon dog. This has caused several problems. 

Exhibit B: The doors on both sides of said hallway happen to be situated directly across from one another. This has also caused several problems. 

With much foresight, the drunk and or hungover architects had managed to pull off—intentionally or unintentionally—a marvel of engineering. A human collision system of sorts, involving dozens of sleep deprived college students crashing into one another at ungodly hours of the morning. Much like tired worker ants, but with lower strength-to-body-weight ratios and higher levels of caffeine-induced anxiety.

Kiyoomi's college board is also special in that—much like the architects—the board's entirety must have also been drunk and or hungover while assigning rooms. 

Exhibit C: They had assigned Kiyoomi and Rintarou the room opposite to the Miyas.

They've been neighbours for nearly a year now, and yet Atsumu still manages to find new and novel ways to look like a mess every Tuesday morning, when Kiyoomi has the pleasure of sharing a lecture with him.

"No," Kiyoomi says. Rintarou steps out and shuts the door behind him. Kiyoomi slides his key in—a practiced motion—and fiddles with the lock for longer than necessary. It's easier to hide a smile with his back turned to the rest of them.

"Fuck do ya mean, no?" Atsumu says, tone akin to a kid whose favourite swing set has just been set on fire. A kid with a match in his back pocket.

Kiyoomi takes a split second to compose himself. He turns, just in time to see Osamu throw his keys at the back of Atsumu's head. 

"Yer so fuckin' rude."

"What the fuck? Look who's talking, 'Samu." Atsumu picks the keys up and aims them at Osamu's face. Osamu snatches them out of the air with zero hesitation. Kiyoomi is impressed, but he supposes such split-second reflexes are what have kept Osamu alive this long.

"Osamu was raised. You were dragged." Kiyoomi pockets his own set of keys and navigates his way through their above-average-raccoon-sized hallway. 

"Omi, don't be mean." Atsumu follows behind him. He's pouting—Kiyoomi knows this not because he has eyes on the back of his head, but because Atsumu sounds exactly like a kid asking for a new swingset after burning his previous one down to the ground. 

The elevator arrives just as Kiyoomi reaches the lobby. He steps in and moves aside to let Atsumu press the button for the ground floor.

Rintarou and Osamu stroll into the lobby right after them. Rintarou's books have been piled into Osamu's arms. Kiyoomi watches Osamu shift their textbooks into his left hand so that he can tangle Rintarou's fingers with his right. 

Atsumu does a modified version of an eye roll in which his irises roll so far back into their sockets that they find the answers to ever-expanding antimatter and the vast unknown. Kiyoomi stares into the grain of the wall beside him and blindly drives his knuckle into the nearest button. The elevator doors creak shut, albeit far too slowly. 

=

"Sunarin, yer a bastard, y'know that? Open this door right now. Gonna fuckin' murder you, ya pig. And don't ya dare turn the TV volume up. Ya think I can't yell louder? I could beat yer shitty speakers in a screaming match any day." 

Kiyoomi thinks he is about to die. There is someone outside yelling bloody murder (bloody murder about Rintarou, specifically, though Kiyoomi does not doubt that this offer of bloody murder will be cordially extended to Kiyoomi as well) and Kiyoomi is far too young to die, but he is also far too stubborn to go down without a fight. If fate has decided that this is where his road ends, the least Kiyoomi can do is spit in its face on the way out. 

Rintarou and Kiyoomi share joint custody of exactly two umbrellas. Rintarou is currently out with the good umbrella, (dark blue, bank logo printed on the side) leaving Kiyoomi no other option but to use the one left by the door (green, beady frog eyes protruding out the top, one of them torn due to a recent scuffle between Rintarou and the campus stray calico, Haru) to use as self defence. 

As he opens the door, he realises that going down with a frog umbrella as your final weapon of choice is not, per se, spitting in the face of fate. 

It's too late now, though, because the door is open and Kiyoomi has come to the conclusion that his soon-to-be murderer is either extremely proficient or extremely incompetent if he's intending on commiting homicide with a plastic tupperware. 

"Yer not Sunarin," Tupperware Murderer says. 

"You're not a murderer," Kiyoomi says. 

Tupperware Murderer tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes. His aggressive blonde hair and undyed undercut reminds Kiyoomi of Haru's tri-colour coat. He wonders if the untorn frog eye on their umbrella is at any risk.

Before Kiyoomi can contemplate what to do about the umbrella and the door and the Soon-To-Be Murderer turned Tupperware Murderer turned Frog-Umbrella-Murdering Calico Cat, the calico cat says, "Man, didn't know Suna lived with such an asshole." 

Kiyoomi blinks. One, two, three, four. He slams the door shut.

=

Kiyoomi's bubble tea order goes as follows: Medium honey green tea, fifty percent sugar, extra aloe vera.

Atsumu sets his drink onto the wooden table. A ring of condensation forms. Kiyoomi frowns.

It's later in the day now, and Atsumu's dragged Kiyoomi to the on-campus bubble tea cafe, like he always does after their morning lectures. 

Kiyoomi complains every time. Atsumu offers to pay for his drink every time. It works every time. And so the routine goes.

As part of a foolish endeavour to try every flavour of fruit tea the shop offers, Atsumu has ordered a triple iced peach tea with tapioca pearls.

Kiyoomi does not know how a peach tea can be, to any effect, tripled. Here is what he does know, though: 

Atsumu is going to offer him a sip of his drink. Kiyoomi is going to look at it and scrunch his nose in disgust. Then he's going to look at Atsumu's stupid sacharrine smile, at the stupid sacharrine drink, and, despite all odds, he will find himself wanting to take a sip. 

=

Kiyoomi sits on the couch and stares at a blank television screen for the next three hours. The harder he thinks about the encounter, the more he fumes. 

As soon as Rintarou steps into the apartment, he asks, "How are you friends with someone so insufferable?" 

Rintarou sets his textbooks onto the dining table. He swears up and down that he'll start studying one of these days. The textbooks inevitably remain untouched until the second coming of Christ, or until Rintarou has to lug them to his next lecture. 

"Atsumu came by?"

Atsumu. So that's the bastard's name.

"I slammed the door in his face." 

"So I was told."

Kiyoomi does not take his eyes off of the blank television. "Why're you friends with him?" 

Rintarou shrugs. "I'm dating his brother. They live together. Kinda hard not to be." he says, like it's the easiest thing in the world. 

Kiyoomi stares very hard at Rintarou and tries to figure out if he's been colluding with the rock pigeons outside his window to pull some sort of cosmic prank on him. 

"What."

"What?" 

"You're dating his brother?" 

Rintarou tilts his head. Kiyoomi counts. One, two, three, four. 

"Yeah? Since August."

Kiyoomi makes a decision, then. Some call it denial, Kiyoomi calls it survival instinct. Instead of processing the fact that Rintarou has been and is currently dating someone biologically related to the brash asshole that stood outside their door hours ago, Kiyoomi stands, walks calmly to his room, and glares at the rock pigeons outside.

-

An hour later, Kiyoomi finds out they're twins. With the cool metal of his bedroom's window sill against his forehead, he whispers, _what the fuck_. The pigeons stare at a broken man with their unblinking eyes and abandon their quest for the secrets of the universe in lieu of delighting in Kiyoomi's misery. 

=

As Kiyoomi had predicted, the peach tea is sweet. As Kiyoomi had _not_ predicted, (but should have seen coming, in hindsight) Atsumu falls into a sugar rush lasting approximately two minutes, and immediately crashes. 

Though Kiyoomi still does not know the specifics of how an iced peach tea can be tripled, he now knows that it involves copious amounts of sugar—enough to incapacitate seventy kilograms of grown man. 

As they walk back to the dorm, Kiyoomi's right hand is taken hostage—held in a vice grip between Atsumu's arms. His shoulder hasn't been spared either, what with the way Atsumu smothers his face all over Kiyoomi's sleeve. Kiyoomi thinks he'll fall asleep and suffocate via polyester one of these days.

"You're wiping sebum all over my jacket," Kiyoomi says. Gently, he pushes his shoulder into Atsumu's cheek.

Atsumu says nothing, just buries his nose deeper into the fabric. It's akin to the affectionate headbutt of a baby goat or the soft peck of a rock pigeon with a blunt beak. 

There's steady breathing against his shoulder. Unconsciously, Kiyoomi aligns himself with Atsumu's every inhale and exhale.

=

Kiyoomi comes to realise that for the past few months, he has either been defying the odds of probability and or living under the protection of a higher entity of sorts. (Kiyoomi has his suspicions on the pigeons.)

Atsumu is his neighbour. Osamu—Rintarou's boyfriend, Atsumu's twin ( _twin_ , Kiyoomi had yelled to the rock pigeons)—is also his neighbour. They live together. Their dorm is directly opposite to Kiyoomi and Rintarou's. They are, at most times of day, separated only by two wooden doors and a metre of corridor. 

Kiyoomi is absolutely certain that his first interaction with Atsumu must have been a catalyst of sorts. The laws of probability must have rewritten themselves. The higher entity must have fucked right off and left Kiyoomi to fend for himself. 

Atsumu is everywhere. He's in Kiyoomi's lectures, sitting in the row behind him. He's at the on-campus bubble tea cafe that Kiyoomi frequents, sipping on one obnoxiously-coloured tea or another. He's seized _Kiyoomi's_ designated library spot—the reading nook on the third floor, hidden behind the historical fictions. 

(Atsumu had taken one look at Kiyoomi, textbooks in hand, scowl on his face, and smirked. 

"Care to join me, Omi-kun?"

Briefly, Kiyoomi had entertained the thought of the communal study table downstairs. 

He'd dumped his textbooks onto the space beside Atsumu's and pulled out a wet wipe to clean the seat next to him.)

It's a chilly Tuesday morning when Kiyoomi's infallible alarm proves its own mortality. Rintarou had left early, and so Kiyoomi is left to stumble through his morning routine on his own, forgoing his two and a half minutes of respite and cutting his breakfast time down to only six minutes. 

He opens the front door and shoves down the urge to immediately slam it back shut.

"Mornin', Omi-kun." Atsumu says, hair wet, smile saccharine, laces untied. He eyes Kiyoomi's disheveled state. 

"Miya."

"Always wondered why I never seemed to catch you walkin' to class." 

"I usually leave earlier." Kiyoomi struggles to slide his key into the lock.

"Relax, Omi. The building's a ten minute walk. Still got plenty of time."

"My seat will be taken by then."

"Your seat?"

"In the corner," Kiyoomi explains, "I don't like sitting anywhere else."

Atsumu takes a beat to process this. One, two, three, four.

Then he's running. Kiyoomi stares at Atsumu's retreating figure as it slips into the elevator lobby. 

Thirty seconds later, he's charging across the field that separates the dorm buildings from the arts faculty. He sprints past the fountain the campus pigeons have claimed as their own and nearly slips on his own untied laces. 

When Kiyoomi walks into class, he sees Atsumu panting in the back row. Next to him: Kiyoomi's corner seat, reserved for him with a drawstring backpack.

From then on, Kiyoomi's Tuesday mornings are plagued with an itch he can't scratch off. The itch comes in the form of wet hair, saccharine smiles, and untied laces, standing outside his door at seven thirty-five in the morning without fail. 

Despite Kiyoomi's best attempts, it becomes routine. _Atsumu_ becomes routine. 

He comes to the conclusion that the rock pigeons are definitely higher entities. They are, however, not entities of protection, but instead chaos.

They must have taken offence when Kiyoomi had glared at them through the window on the day he'd met Atsumu. They must have decided, then and there, to collude with the universe. To pull a cosmic prank. To fuck up Kiyoomi's life. 

-

_rintarou_

>> i see you two have been getting along ;)

>> oops typo

>> i meant :)

>> :)))

rintarou. <<

i'd sooner date a rock pigeon. <<

=

Half an hour later, Atsumu has fully crashed. The weight settled against Kiyoomi's chest is both crushing and comforting at the same time. 

An episode of So Expensive plays in the background. The pilling fabric of Atsumu's couch chafes against the back of his neck and the shell of his ear, but Kiyoomi can't bring himself to care. Instead, he occupies his mind with the intricacies of Manukā honey as Atsumu drools onto his collar. 

Kiyoomi glances at the clock on the wall. "Osamu will be home soon," he says. 

On screen, a production line deposits honey into black, unlabelled jars. 

"Get off."

Kiyoomi watches as Manukā honey samples are swabbed into clear centrifuge tubes.

"I'm not moving. Your lap is comfortable." As if to prove his point, Atsumu nuzzles further into Kiyoomi's neck. 

A clear liquid is transferred into a reagent bottle via dropper.

"You're gonna regret this in an hour." 

Vats of honey are crane-lifted and emptied into barrels.

"Sounds like a problem for later." 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and continues threading his fingers through Atsumu's hair. 

=

Atsumu ruins their first kiss by yelling "Shit!" immediately afterwards. 

Eyes wide, Kiyoomi stares at Atsumu and counts in his head. One, two, three, four—

Atsumu's brain kicks its own synapses hard enough to send itself into reboot. 

Once his synapses lapse back into regular function—or whatever the fuck counts as regular function for Atsumu—he amends his previous statement with a hasty "Wait, no—"

Kiyoomi leans back, unamused.

"That wasn't directed at you, it was directed at 'Samu," Atsumu offers as explanation. "That bastard's gonna have a field day with this one."

"Osamu?" 

"I've been talkin' his ear off about how much I hate ya. He kept telling me it was a crush and obviously I didn't listen," he says. "Turns out he was right, I guess. I ain't gonna tell 'im that, though." 

This time, it's Kiyoomi's brain that kicks its own synapses hard enough to send itself into reboot.

His synapses begin to fire. He thinks about the nights spent banging his metaphorical head on Rintarou's metaphorical shoulder— complaining about how Atsumu had stolen his textbooks and held them hostage the entire walk back to the dorms because "I can't have you running away now can I, Omi-kun?". The knowing look Rintarou had given him. The one Kiyoomi had wanted to grab and throw out his bedroom window for the pigeons to feed on. 

Rintarou has the memory of a grudge-holding calico cat and the patience of one, too. He knows how to play the long game. Kiyoomi is but an unsuspecting frog umbrella who is about to have an eye torn out. 

"Rintarou cannot know about this. He'd never let me live it down."

The easy part had been admitting their mutual attraction. The hard part was going to be admitting their mutual attraction _to their insufferable roommates._

Kiyoomi's left eye twitches. Eventually, a decision of mutual benefit is made.

=

When Kiyoomi wakes, the first thing he registers is the fact that he'd forgotten to turn off the television. 

"I'm gonna print this out and hang it on our front door." 

"Gross. Make me a copy too. We can match."

The second thing Kiyoomi registers is that those aren't television noises at all, and that they are both utterly fucked. 

Slowly, like a terrified frog umbrella in a calico's territory, Kiyoomi opens his eyes. 

"Nice to see you, Kiyoomi-kun." Osamu says. Rintarou stands next to him, canines flashing, phone in hand. 

At this moment, Atsumu stirs in Kiyoomi's lap. 

"Five more minutes," he slurs into Kiyoomi's neck. Kiyoomi whacks him in the back of the head. 

Atsumu tumbles to the couch in a dramatic mess of splayed limbs and vulgarities. Then he finally opens his eyes and registers the two figures standing in front of them.

"Hey, 'Samu. What's up?" Atsumu says, because he's stubborn like that, and refuses to acknowledge when a situation is unsalvageable.

"Nothin' much. Wanna tell me what I'm seein' here?"

At that, Atsumu falters. "Bros bein' bros?" he says, just as Kiyoomi, in an attempt to save his boyfriend's already fractured dignity, says: "We're dating."

Slowly, Rintarou and Osamu turn to each other. They burst out laughing. Kiyoomi and Atsumu burst into flames. 

"You know—" Rintarou catches enough breath to gasp out, "—that we've known for weeks, right?" 

Atsumu blinks. One, two, three, four. He tackles Osamu to the ground. There's a coffee stain on the floor tile next to Osamu's head. Kiyoomi hopes it will not soon be replaced by a body stain. 

"Fuckin' asshole! Why didn't ya say anything?" 

"Wanted to see—" A wheeze, as Atsumu jabs a finger into Osamu's side. "—how long ya could keep it up for."

Kiyoomi pinches the bridge of his nose. Rintarou collapses onto the space next to Kiyoomi and continues laughing into the couch cushions. On the floor, their boyfriends continue the hand-to-hand combat they've been engaged in since the womb. 

"So." Rintarou wipes the tears from his eyes with one hand and props his chin onto the other.

"You'd sooner date a rock pigeon, huh?" he says, golden eyes reminiscent of a higher entity of sorts. Or a calico cat. 

"Fuck off," Kiyoomi says, silently resolving to pick up a few bags of bird feed on his next groccery run. 

=

Kiyoomi steps out and counts: One, two, three, four—

"Omi-kun!" Atsumu calls, hair wet, smile saccharine, laces untied. Osamu, well versed in the art of self restraint, tunes out Atsumu's sickly sweet tone and goes to pile Rintarou's books into his own arms. On the Miyas' front door, there is an A4 printout of Atsumu and him sleeping on a scratchy couch, limbs tangled. He knows that Rintarou has hung an identical copy on the door behind him as well. He doesn't need to look. 

Kiyoomi hands his keys off to Rintarou and attempts to step on Atsumu's untied laces. Atsumu expertly dodges and takes off down the hallway. Kiyoomi shifts his textbooks into his left arm and runs after him. 

As he turns the corner into the lobby, his right arm is snatched by a waiting hand. He is promptly pulled into an open elevator and backed against a wall. 

"Rintarou still has my keys," Kiyoomi says, matter of fact, into the space between them.

Atsumu leans ever so slightly closer. "Oh no, guess you'll have to stay at ours until he comes back then."

Kiyoomi snorts and pushes him away by the shoulder. Something hits his arm with a _clink_ and clatters to the ground.

"Get a room." Rintarou yells from the lobby, hand linked with Osamu's like the hypocrite he is.

Atsumu sticks his tongue out like a child who's just commited arson. Kiyoomi jams a knuckle into the elevator's close button.

He kisses Atsumu as the metal doors creak shut.

**Author's Note:**

> school is killing me but i love sakuatsu sm i had to contribute to the fluff. on twitter [@spacedhowell](https://twitter.com/spacedhowell?s=09)!


End file.
